


Rosewood, Marigolds, and Things That Go Bump in the Night

by My_Own_Infinity, Whyistheskyblue



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe - No Magic, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-04 14:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10993113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Own_Infinity/pseuds/My_Own_Infinity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whyistheskyblue/pseuds/Whyistheskyblue
Summary: The Scamanders enjoy barely two years of marital bliss before infidelity tears them apart. Forced back together by an accidental pregnancy, the couple moves from the heart of Harlem to the suburbs of Staten Island.With a new house, a metaphorical white picket fence, and a baby on the way, Newt and Tina believe that all of their problems have passed.And then things start going bump in the night.





	1. Chapter 1

_The living room looks like a scene from a porn movie,_ Newt thinks vaguely, stepping through the front door of the one-bedroom apartment in Harlem. A bottle of wine and two glasses sit on the coffee table. The bottle is mostly empty. He picks it up, trying to ignore the lacy black panties that fall to the floor when he jostles the table. He finds that he can’t ignore the panties any more than he can ignore the unfamiliar pair of black stilettos - one shoe near the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen, and the other by the bedroom door.

They weren’t Tina’s shoes _(or her underwear)_ . Her brown work loafers were tucked neatly next to the couch, near her favorite bra _(dark navy with just a touch of scalloped lace along the top, no padding)_ . Both wine glasses had touches of lipstick along the rims, one a cool pink _(Tina)_ and the other a cruel red _(Unknown)_. A low murmur - an unfamiliar and smokey sound that oozes into his ears - slips from the bedroom.

“Tina?” Newt’s voice is barely a whisper as he crosses to their shared bedroom, the stranger’s panties dangling loosely from his fingers. With a tinge of morbid curiosity he opens the door, the slight squeak that normally bothered him barely registering.

The bedroom is also a scene from a porno - one of the lesbian ones that Newt knows Tina watches when he isn’t home. She was always especially eager afterwards, wanting to be touched with his fingers or tongue. Wanting to be fucked with a toy, but never by him. When they finished, she’d gather him into her arms and kiss his temple. Tell him how good he was as her clever fingers stroked him to completion.

They worked together, in their own way.

But now all Newt can see is a brown expanse of skin, Tina’s pale and slender legs wrapped around narrow shoulders. A head of dark hair bobbing steadily between Tina’s thighs. Tina’s fingers (her nails unpainted and clipped short) fisted in the white sheets. A breathy giggle slips past her lips when the black-haired woman sits back on her heels.

“Chief Picquery?”

The woman startles backwards an inch before she freezes, every muscle visibly locking into place. Newt’s heart sinks as Tina sits up too quickly. There are splotches of red lipstick trailing up her neck.

“Newt, I can-”

“No, it’s quite alright.” The room spins for a moment, reality knocking the zoologist from the the fantasy of marital bliss he had been occupying for the last few months. “I can’t say I understand, but it’s quite all right.”

“Let me explain,” Tina pleads, crawling across the bed. Her breasts swing free, even as Picquery scrambles to cover herself up. They are foils of each other - passionate, boyish Porpentina and collected, feminine Seraphina. There are red bites on Tina’s nipples.

“I think it’s all quite clear.” Newt feels woozy looking at the rumpled sheets. He and Tina had picked them out together, scouring the clearance rack at Marshalls until they found something 100% cotton that would make the summer heat a little more bearable. He moves his gaze to the floor. “I’ll be in the living room. I think I need a cup of tea.”

* * *

Picquery leaves while Newt’s back is to the door. He hears her trying to collect her clothes, strangely calm for a woman who was missing her underwear. (Newt hadn’t dropped the black panties until he got to the kitchen. They fell neatly into the trash, resting on top of another bottle of wine and a takeout bag from the nearest seafood place.) Newt does not turn from the stove, even after he hears the front door close.

When Tina emerges, she is wearing her bathrobe. Not the satin one from Victoria’s Secret - the plaid flannel one from Target, several sizes too big and tied with a ribbon (the sash was long gone).

“Newt.” He hears her settle at the counter. He can picture the way she climbs onto the stool, her bare feet curling around the wooden rungs. Her toenails are painted bright blue, he knows without looking. (Her niece - their niece - had a birthday recently and everybody got painted nails. Aunty Tina couldn’t because of her Very Important Work, so the seven-year-old had settled on painting her toenails instead.) “Newt, honey, look at me.”

Stubbornly, he keeps his face turned away.

“ _Newt._ ” Her voice is firmer, and he turns to her like a flower seeking the sun. Like he needs her to survive, even when she burns him. “You were supposed to be in Africa for another week. I didn’t think--” She stops, takes a breath, starts again: “You... know about my preferences. Just like I know about yours.”

“I don’t _act_ on them.” His knuckles are white against the mug that he’s cradling, his voice sullen now that the dizziness has passed. “It’s not like I trapeze around the globe, taking on a string of exotic lovers.” There’s a moment of silence, horror captured in Tina’s face as reality crashes on her.

“I didn’t- I never- I’m sorry, Newt, I thought-”

“You thought incorrectly.” His eyes flit over her face briefly before he turns away. His tea, now oversteeped, is bitter in his mouth. “Why Picquery?” He hopes that the answer is carnal. Sex is such an easy explanation. A combination of loneliness from his absence, lust, and a preference for the fairer sex. He already knew that she had only married him to appease the memory of her parents: devout Jews who had sent their children to Yeshiva until they passed away in a tragic accident. If she was sleeping with him for the same reason, then that is something he can accommodate.

“She’s- I don’t know, Newt. She has a way about her. Firm, commanding. Unafraid to take.” _She’s everything you’re not, giver that you are._ The unspoken addendum echos in the space between them, an implicit reminder that he will never be enough for her, that the difference between him and Picquery is in the _person_ , not the sex.

“I want you to leave.” Newt purses his lips. What she’s saying is true - he is fundamentally a giver. Once, he had given until it destroyed him. Until there was nothing left but a hole in the shape of a girl with long brown hair. A girl who had sung to the pigeons atop the school, had walked with him through the forest, had kissed him in the horse stalls. A girl who had taken until there was nothing left to take, until he had to run away to college in America to escape his shame and broken heart; lost and lonely until Tina came along to fill the hole.

His problem then was that he hadn’t known when to stop giving. He likes to think he’s learned a few things since then.

“Newt.” Her voice is heartbroken, burnt honey left to shatter on the stove. “Honey, let’s talk about this.”

He shakes his head, refusing to look back and see the heartbreak on her face, knowing that it would force him to crumble. “You can stay in a hotel. Or call Piquery. I don’t much care.” It’s cruel, and he can hear her sniff, beginning to tear up. She doesn’t say anything, but he can hear her climb down the stool and go to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Newt leaves before she comes back out; sending a text to Jacob asking if he wanted to meet at a local bar.

* * *

Weeks pass. Tina picks up necessities, leaving Newt with reminders of her every time he enters the apartment. Her clothes in the closet, her coffee in the cupboard, her perfume pressed into the pillow (ingrained even after several washes). She bounces between Queenie’s and Picquery’s and the homes of a few other friends, charging hotel rooms to their joint bank account a few times. He says nothing, knowing that (introverted, secluded) Tina was probably in need of privacy. Couchsurfing never allowed for alone time, intimate or otherwise.

When he can no longer stand the empty apartment or the pitying looks from his coworkers he books another trip abroad, this time to study lizards for three months in Brazil. He tells her when he’ll be gone and when he’ll be back. She can use the apartment while he’s away. When Newt leaves, he is kinder than _She_ was, packing all of his belongings into a few boxes that he shoves under the bed. He washes the linens and stocks the fridge with her favorite foods; he hangs her plaid bathrobe on its hook in the bathroom. When he’s done, he slips from the apartment, grateful to be moving on.

* * *

Newt tries to take a lover in Brazil. His guide is smart and witty and all too willing when the zoologist slips a hand up his thigh. He tastes like sweat and bug spray, bitter on Newt’s tongue. Nothing like Tina, whose kisses tasted of the strawberry candies she kept in her desk and coffee from the Gregory’s across the street from her precinct.

He can’t do it. In the end, the guide is too unfamiliar for Newt’s body to react the way it does to Tina. He and the guide share a few awkward kisses before breaking apart, color dull in their cheeks as the energy between them crackles and fades. They retire to separate sleeping bags and never mention it again, slipping back into clever camaraderie. Newt pretends he doesn’t notice the slight rustling coming from the guide’s sleeping bag, or how the man bites his lip when he thinks Newt isn’t looking.

* * *

Tina is in the apartment when he gets back to New York. He can hear music playing from outside the door, something instrumental and slow. He hesitates for a moment, tempted to just book a hotel room and text Tina a reminder that he was home. But it wasn’t like her to forget important dates (that was Newt), and if she was in the apartment she was probably expecting him.

Inside is a re-creation of That Night. Takeout from the seafood place, a bottle of wine, Tina’s loafers tucked under the couch. This time, however, there is only one wine glass instead of two. The food is untouched. There are no clothes scattered around. Instead, Tina is sitting on the couch, a glass of something sparkling in her hand.

“Newt.” A smile breaks across her face, and Newt drinks it in.

“Tina.” He hovers at the door, unsure if he’s welcome in his own apartment. But TIna pats the couch and the resolve that was holding broken heart together shatters. He crosses the room, looking everywhere but her face. A million different emotions race through him at different speeds. There’s rapid anticipation, meandering love, and slow anger. Anger that burns bright and hot, scorching away the pain. “You’re not supposed to be here.” He stops three feet from the coffee table. The smile falls from her face.

“Let’s talk this out.” Her sloped shoulders and bitten lips set off little warnings in Newt’s brain. Subdued body language is not typical of Tina; it is worn only when she is distressed and in need of comfort.

“You need to leave.” He remembers the awkward kisses with the guide, his inability to make love to someone who wasn't comfortable. With Tina, there had never been that awkwardness, but their couplings were still few and far between. He knew that that bothered Tina, although she always denied it. News wonders if that was one of the many things that went wrong between them.

Tina pours some wine into the glass and pushes it towards him. “We have to talk.” Her voice is firm. Insistent. She bites her lip again, looking at once hesitant and determined. When Newt neither responds nor takes his eyes off of the carpet, she takes a deep breath. “Newt, I’m pregnant.”


	2. Chapter 2

Strawberries, bell peppers, and mixed greens - one scoop of each for every iguana. Are all iguanas accounted for?

_One Cyclura Lewisi._

_Two Cyclura Nubila._

_Two Iguanas, with the newest Brazilian rescue still at the vet._

Yes. All are accounted for.

Clean each pen. Smile at the children waving through the glass. Lock each pen.

Next, visit the (particularly ornery) Angolan Dwarf Python that Newt had rescued from the Namibian grasslands a few years back. Today is technically Gilbert’s day to clean the python cages, but Newt always stops in and says hello to his favorite reptile.

When he steps into the pen, Albert (the python) drops his head down from the hanging branch, curling around Newt’s shoulders in greeting.

“Hello, Al,” Newt says quietly, scratching the underside of the python’s chin. “It’s been awhile. You didn’t get lonely, did you?” It’s rare to find Angolan Dwarf Pythons in captivity - their natural habitat in Angola is full of landmines, and very few people risk the trip. Newt, however, was lucky enough to find Albert in Namibia, slightly north of the danger, and took him home. Three years later, Albert is as happy and healthy as a python can be, but Newt still wants to get Albert a mate to keep him company when Newt is away. Perhaps the zoo could even start breeding them.

Newt’s stomach turns over.

“You’re just fine on your own, aren’t you, little guy?” he murmurs, gently removing Albert from his person. The python clings to his shoulders, unwilling to be separated from the warmth of Newt’s body. “No surprises in here.” He sighs. “Maybe you’re the lucky one.”

With that, he bids Albert good day and heads on to the tortoises.

 

* * *

 

_Mates._

The date of conception was sometime shortly before the Tina/Picquery incident. Tina had always had an irregular cycle - it wasn’t uncommon for her period to start late or even skip a month altogether - so she hadn’t been particularly concerned when it didn’t come the first month Newt was gone. Then came the headaches, the dizziness - that’s when Tina went to the doctor. She decided to wait until Newt returned from Brazil to tell him the news: She was pregnant, she was keeping the baby, and she wanted it to grow up in a two-parent home. It was an uncharacteristically sentimental move on her part, perhaps prompted by the absence of her own parents. Further information was needed before a definitive conclusion could be reached.

Newt told her that he needed some time to think (mostly, he needed some time before he _could_ think), so she sat him down on the couch, poured him a glass of wine, and spent the next three hours telling him stories of her recent police adventures. Her breath was warm against his neck when she tucked her nose under his chin. The stirrings of arousal that had been absent in Brazil circled in his stomach. The soft cotton collar of her white button down wrinkled beneath his fingers as he twisted and untwisted the fabric.

Newt drank the entire bottle of wine.

Afterwards, he fell asleep on the couch, curled up in Tina’s lap. He thinks he remembers crying, but he’s not entirely sure - things were a bit fuzzy at that point. He woke up to a headache, a bottle of water on the coffee table, and a text from Tina asking if she could come over that afternoon. The water helped with the headache; the text made it worse. Her scent lingered in the couch cushions; a warm, musky scent that he had begun to call home. They made plans to meet at the apartment when he got off of work, assuming that her late hours and his “unexpected projects” would give him enough time to think over his response.

By the end of the day, he had decided on his terms.

 

* * *

 

When Newt gets home, Tina is once again sitting on the couch. The utilitarian navy sofa blends in with the slacks she had worn to work. Many aspects of her life could be described as utilitarian, the constant quest for the outcome that would create the greatest good for the greatest number of people. Newt can’t help but wonder if her decision that the two of them ought to get back together was simply her setting their happiness against the societal pressures of raising a child in a “normal” home (coupled with the stigma surrounding affairs), and accepting that their happiness was the lesser outcome.

Instead of one glass of wine, there are two mugs of tea sitting on the coffee table in front of Tina. The room buzzes with nervous energy.

“Newt!” Tina’s face lights up when she sees him. She pushes one of the mugs in his direction. “I bought some of that mint green that you like. The one from Trader Joe’s?”

Newt glances at the cup, and then at the kitchen. The tea kettle isn’t on the stove, but the “0:00” on the microwave clock indicate that the microwave has been used recently.

He sighs.

“Thank you, Tina,” he says as he sits down next to her, daintily pulling the tea bag out of the cup and wrapping it in a few tissues to keep it from leaking onto the table. He takes a sip. It’s lukewarm and unbearably bitter, but he manages to turn his grimace into a smile.

Tina looks pleased.

They talk about the little things - their respective days at work, how they’ve been, and even the weather - before Tina asks, “So, have you put any thought into what we talked about last night?”

Newt nods, grateful for a reason to put down his tea, and takes out the list he wrote on his lunch break that day. “I’ve decided I want to stay.”

Tina’s eyes fill with tears, which Newt doesn’t understand, and she throws her arms around his neck and buries her face in the crook of his neck. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Holding Tina close, Newt feels at home for the first time in months.

After a minute or two of silence, Newt pulls away. “There’s something else,” he says. He unfolds the list. “I have some... conditions.”

Tina nods and wipes the tears from her eyes. “Of course. Anything.”

“No more secrets. If you want something… more, tell me, but your sneaking about isn’t fair to anyone.” The words are bitter in his mouth, but it’s a necessary concession. If he isn’t enough and they are still going to attempt to make a home, he should at least know who is being brought into their marital bed.

Newt’s eyes are glued to his list, but he can tell from the slight tremor in her voice that she is nodding her head again. “No more secrets. I won’t- What I did was _awful_ , and I’m- I’m so sorry. I’ll never do that to you again, Newt. I promise.” He notes with detached interest that she doesn’t promise to never again _become involved_ with someone else. It hurts in a distant way, an old wound that twinges when the weather changes. But humans are not monogamous creatures. No mammals are. Only penguins and a few types of insects seem to lack the ingrained need to breed with as diverse a gene offering as possible.

“Second, no more private cases with Picquery.”

That makes Tina hesitate. “That… might be difficult. Sometimes, officers are assigned to cases, and-”

“And the NYPD is a very large police force - you can always ask to be transferred to a different case.” The interruption is abrupt, Newt’s cheeks coloring.

A pause. Newt can picture Tina biting her lip. “...Okay. Anything else?”

“Yes.” Newt takes a deep breath. “I want to move.”

“You want to _what?”_

“Move.” Newt rolls and unrolls a corner of the paper between his fingers, trying to ground himself with sensory input. “Manhattan is crowded and noisy and dark. I want to move somewhere greener. Somewhere with houses.”

Tina inhales, her breath catching in her throat for a second before she says, “Newt, we both work in the city, and nowhere in New York City fits that description. Unless you want both of us to quit our jobs or commute two hours both ways, I don’t think it would be _possible_ for us to move into a traditional-style neighborhood.”

Newt had expected this response, and he came prepared. “But, hypothetically, if I _could_ find a neighborhood in New York within commuting distance, you would be open to moving there?” For the first time since he sat down on the couch, Newt looks straight at Tina.

Tina squints at Newt suspiciously, but concedes, “If it’s reasonably safe and within our budget, I’d be willing to look into the possibility. Why? Have you found something already?”

“Yes.” The moment of truth. “I did some research on the train home and found a few houses - actual houses, with a yard and fence and all that - for under five hundred grand.” He sees Tina open her mouth - knows that she’s about to start protesting - and cuts her off. “My brother could give us a loan; you know he wouldn’t charge us interest. Money may be tight for a bit, but we’d recover.” Newt decides that this is a good moment to pause and let the good news sink in. It works - Tina purses her lips, but she appears to be considering his proposition.

“Okay,” she says, “let’s say your brother _does_ give us a loan. If you found a single-family home in the city for less than half a million, it’s probably a death trap. It’s not in the Bronx, is it?”

“No,” Newt says quickly. “No, no, no, nowhere like that. It’s actually- well, it’s quite far from there. And the neighborhoods seem quite safe - thorough research pending, of course.” He looks hopefully at Tina, who still does not seem convinced. “It’s- er, it’s on Staten Island.”

“Ha! Right.” Tina gives Newt her signature amused half-smile. “Nice try. Where’s this neighborhood really?”

Newt looks sheepishly at her.

The smile drops off of Tina’s face. “Oh my God, you’re serious.”

“You already agreed to look into it.”

“I said I’d look into houses in _New York._ ”

“Yes. And if you look at a map of New York, Staten Island is clearly-”

“No.” Tina shifts away from Newt, uncrosses her arms, and straightens her back. In most mammals, this sort of response would signal the beginning of a fight. And while in many ways, Tina is unlike any mammal Newt had ever encountered. This, however, was not one of those ways. Newt sighs and straightens his own spine, mimicking her posture to signal to _her_ hindbrain that he is not going to back down. “No,” she says again. “Staten Island isn’t part of the city. Or, if it _is_ part of the city, it’s the part where dreams go to _die_.” Tina is getting (ridiculously, in Newt’s opinion) worked up at this point, and Newt – at a loss for what to do – gently pats her on the shoulder. Tina’s eyes start to fill with tears. “Are you punishing me?” she whispers.

Newt’s eyebrows practically shoot above his hairline. “Am I _what?”_

“Is that what this is?” Tina jerks her shoulder away from Newt’s hand. “A punishment? You’re trying to get back at me for sleeping with Picquery.”

Newt gapes at her in bewilderment. “I’m not- This isn’t _revenge,_ Tina. It’s exactly what we need: a spacious, relatively green area that we can afford and that’s within commuting distance. Honestly, we’d have to move regardless - a one-bedroom flat in Harlem is no place to raise a child, not to mention the animals-”

“ _Animals?”_ Tina holds up her hand, stopping Newt mid-sentence. “Is that what this is about? You want me to take a _ferry_ to work every day for your _animals?_ ” Tina’s expression suddenly turns deadly calm, but the furious gleam in her eyes would have stopped the Mongolian army in its tracks. “What animals, _exactly?”_

Newt can tell from the burning in his cheeks that his face is probably bright red. “W-Well, I- At the zoo- They’re considering making some b-budget cuts, you see, and-” Tina’s nostrils flare, and Newt shrinks down a little in his seat. “Obviously, the child is the most important factor,” he mutters. He tries to go back to fidgeting intently with his list, but finds that he has already torn the paper to shreds.

He hears Tina sigh.

“I want a _dream house,”_ she says finally. Newt’s head snaps up. Tina has crossed her arms again – a good sign. “There had better be a _white fucking picket fence_ around it, Newt, I swear to God.” The look of joy on Newt’s face only seems to make her grumpier.

“Thank you.” Newt leans forward to kiss Tina, gentle and sweet. She cheers up a bit after that, giving Newt an almost imperceptible wry smile.

“No horses,” she says.

Newt nods emphatically. “No horses.

“Nothing unsanitary.”

“Define unsanitary.”

“ _Newt.”_

“Humans are actually some of the most unsanitary creatures in ex-“

“ _Newton Scamander, if you try to bring a disease-ridden animal into my house, I will chase you both out with a broom.”_

Newt holds up his hands in a gesture of defeat. “I’ll get each one tested and vaccinated before I bring them.”

“And you’re sure we’ll have _room_ for… _whatever_ you bring home?”

“Yes. The houses I found - once again, thorough research pending - all seem to be quite large. A basement could even work for rabbits and such; although, they’d still need a sunlit area to play.” Before Tina can poke more holes in his plan to turn their future home into a rescue shelter, Newt takes out his phone and pulls up the _Realtor.com_ results for Staten Island homes that met their search criteria. “You’ll find that three bedroom houses are surprisingly affordable on the island.”

Taking the phone, Tina frowns as she flicks through the first page of results. “And you’re sure these neighborhoods are safe?”

“Yes! Thorough research pending.” The line is beginning to sound worn, as though Newt is trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince Tina.

Tina holds up the phone screen to reveal an utterly dilapidated house, complete with peeling paint, boarded-up windows, and what looked like half of the porch railing leaning haphazardly against the garage door. The listed price was $150K.

“A few of them might be _fixer-uppers_.” Newt quips, too defensively.

Tina gives him a stern look.

“It doesn’t have to be _that_ one! Pick a few you like, and we’ll schedule a viewing for - are you still off Mondays? - next Monday afternoon.” When Tina wrinkles her nose, Newt adds, “We can do it all in one go if you don’t want to make the trip more than once.”

Rubbing her temples, Tina hands Newt his phone. Closes her eyes. Sighs. “We can _look at_ houses, but I’m not promising to move to Staten Island.”

Newt kisses her on the cheek.

“I mean it! It’s _probably a no,_ Newt.”

Newt nods. “Of course.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

“I’d never.” Newt smiles innocently. Tina squints at him, lips pursed.

“Bring me my laptop so I can _actually_ look at these options. Also-” Tina hands Newt her mug - “my tea is cold. Can you stick it back in the microwave for me?”

As Newt heads to the kitchen to commit this special bit of sacrilege, he marvels at how quickly their relationship slipped back into normalcy. They hadn’t spoken for three months, and yet the emotional transition back into domestic life was as quick as it was seamless. In less than twenty-four hours, Newt has learned that he is going to be a father, that he will indeed be spending the rest of his life with Tina, and that the two of them will (potentially) be moving into a house in the near future. All things considered, Newt should be having an emotional crisis right about now. Instead, he is pushing the “minute plus” button on the microwave and thinking about pet licensing.

And he couldn’t be happier.

**Author's Note:**

> Our blogs:  
> [whyistheskygray](http://whyistheskygray.tumblr.com/)  
> [themoreyoustrex](http://themoreyoustrex.tumblr.com/)


End file.
